


nothing ventured

by ictus



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dream Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Pre-Canon, Shifting Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:36:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23276797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: Eames may be a terrible thief, but Yusuf is an equally terrible mark.
Relationships: Eames/Yusuf (Inception)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14
Collections: All The Nice Things Flash Exchange 2020





	nothing ventured

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asuralucier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/gifts).



> [Please watch this clip](https://youtu.be/l_dDXhzgsx4?t=99) and note the way Eames says Yusuf's name at 1:45. See that smirk? Yeah, they've definitely fucked before.
> 
> Thank you to flowerdeluce for the speedy beta!

The man in front of Yusuf smiles placidly. “Well it all sounds very promising, I’d certainly be interested in a trial.”

“We could arrange that for you today, Mr—”

“Eames,” the man finishes quickly.

A sense of unease prickles on the edge of Yusuf’s awareness, but it’s muted. Distant. Eames continues talking, describing how difficult it’s been to track down a chemist, but Yusuf isn’t listening.

Instead, Yusuf studies him.

Eames looks relaxed, completely at ease where he sits on the other side of Yusuf’s desk. His legs are crossed at the knee, but his body language is open and oriented towards Yusuf, almost as if he’s leaning in towards him. Eames’s suit—expensive, likely, though Yusuf’s no connoisseur—is perfectly tailored and improbably crisp, given how far Eames has travelled in it. It’s humid and stuffy in Yusuf’s workroom, but there’s no sweat on Eames’s brow, and not a single hair is out of place.

From behind his desk, Yusuf feels for the pulse in his wrist, and counts the slow, steady beats.

“—which is what led me to you,” Eames finishes. Yusuf’s eyes snap back to Eames’s from where they’d been lingering on his exposed collarbone. Eames smirks knowingly. “It turns out you have quite the reputation.”

If there’s an innuendo there, Yusuf chooses to ignore it. “My compounds can be tailored to the individual, which offers an edge over my competitors.” Yusuf has never been modest about his skills before. He sees no reason why he should start now.

“Well if you’re amenable, I’d love to experience them first-hand,” Eames says, pulling out a silver briefcase—seemingly from out of nowhere.

“Ah but that’s the thing,” Yusuf says, leaning back in his chair. “You already are.”

Eames blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Mr Eames, did you think I wouldn’t recognise the effects of my own sedatives?”

A smile, slow and shark-like, begins to spread over Eames’s face. He’s silent for a moment, and Yusuf wonders if he’s going to raise or fold. Finally he says, “It seems I underestimated you. What gave it away?”

“You’re not an architect, are you?”

Eames shrugs. “Not by trade.”

“No,” Yusuf agrees, eyeing the burnished wood of his desk. The colour is a shade too dark, the effect more matte than glossy. Close, but imperfect. “There are some inconsistencies in your work. But that wasn’t what gave you away.”

Eames’s smile quirks. “Oh?”

“My compounds are not just sedatives. I also often add a GABA agonist.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s an anxiolytic.”

Eames huffs. “In English, please.”

“An agent that reduces anxiety,” Yusuf says. “In this instance, it binds to the receptor for gamma-aminobutyric acid or GABA, a neurotransmitter responsible for inhibiting neuronal hypersensitivity. What this means for the dreamer, is that even when there are signs that their world isn’t real, they remain calm.” Yusuf places his hands on top of the desk where he’s still measuring his pulse. “Blood pressure, heart rate—all vitals remain stable, even within the dream.”

Eames’s eyes fall to Yusuf’s wrist. Slowly, he raises two fingers to his own throat, feeling for his pulse. He lets out a quiet _huh_ when he finds it.

“Clever, no?” Yusuf asks.

“I won’t lie, I’m quite impressed with your work,” Eames says slowly.

“I wish I could say the same for yours. What was your plan? You would take me two levels deep and then steal my formulas?” At the mention of his formulas, Yusuf glances reflexively at the locked draw in his desk. Eames catches the movement, his smile widening.

“Something like that.”

“And then what? Sell them on the black market to the highest bidder? Chemical synthesis is not the same as following a cake recipe. No one can replicate my techniques, and no one can recreate my compounds.”

“People can do anything with the right motivation,” Eames says, his voice heavy with insinuation.

“Money,” Yusuf says. It’s not a question.

Eames shrugs anyway. “Sometimes. Sometimes not.”

“So how were you going to steal from me?”

Eames’s eyes narrow, his smile twisting into something dangerous. “I was going to use a distraction.”

Yusuf chances another glance at his locked draw, then curses himself for being so obvious. Eames may be a terrible thief, but Yusuf is an equally terrible mark. “You think you could distract me?”

“I’m sure of it.” Eames uncrosses his legs and leans forward, his voice dropping as if he’s about to share a secret. “I haven’t told you what it is I do, have I?”

Yusuf frowns, and between one blink and the next, Eames is—gone. Or changed, rather. In his place is a woman; tall and dark and astoundingly beautiful, and not Yusuf’s type in the _slightest_.

“I see. So you’re a forger?” Yusuf asks. Forgers are rare in his line of work, requiring a skill that’s almost impossible to master. Yusuf has only met a few who sought his compounds.

“I am,” the woman says with a demure smile. She rises slowly from the chair, her long dress falling to the floor. She looks like she just stepped out of the silver screen, her gown hugging her curves and accentuating them. It really is an impressive spectacle.

“And do you always seduce your marks?” Yusuf asks, shifting in his chair.

The woman gives a small shrug as she comes to settle on the edge of Yusuf’s desk. “Depends on the mark.” In her current position, her cleavage is directly in Yusuf’s eyeline. Yusuf can only laugh and look away.

“I always thought that to be a forger, you needed to be a good judge of character.”

“I’m an excellent judge of character,” she says, leaning in close. 

“Ah, but you’ve misjudged me. Significantly.”

The woman purses her lips, her brow drawn in confusion, until comprehension begins to dawn on her face. Her smile slowly spreads, but it’s not her smile, it’s _Eames’s_. It’s Eames perched on the edge of Yusuf’s desk, it’s Eames leaning in, his mouth only inches away from Yusuf’s.

“Well this is a fascinating new development,” Eames says, his breath hot on Yusuf’s lips. “Didn’t think I’d be your type.”

“You’re not getting my formulas,” Yusuf says, deflecting.

“I’m not after your formulas.”

“Bullshit,” Yusuf says. His eyes dart back to the locked drawer, but it’s still secure. Whatever Eames is playing at, Yusuf won’t give in so easily.

“I was,” Eames admits, sliding off the desk to straddle Yusuf’s lap. “But I’ve been in this game long enough to know when to abandon a failing plan.”

At that, Eames closes the last few inches between them, and presses his lips to Yusuf’s. Eames’s mouth is soft and yielding, but Yusuf flinches away instantly.

“You’re fucking with me,” Yusuf says. His heart rate is starting to pick up despite the influence of the drug, the thrum of his pulse accelerating with every passing second.

“Not yet I’m not,” Eames says, and kisses Yusuf again. This time, Yusuf can only grasp at Eames’s lapels as Eames deepens the kiss, turning it filthy. The chair creaks under their combined weight, and Yusuf prays that Eames has taken enough creative liberties with his architecture to ensure it won’t collapse. Pinned under Eames’s weight, it’s easy to give in; to abandon all thoughts of theft and forgery, and just enjoy the press of Eames’s body against his. It’s not long before Yusuf finds himself grinding against Eames, helplessly seeking friction even as the kiss grows frantic.

“Eager, are we?” Eames murmurs once he breaks the kiss.

Yusuf automatically spits out a _fuck you_ , but Eames isn’t wrong. The effects of the drug are diminishing rapidly, and with Eames pressed against him, Yusuf can feel his erection throb in time with his quickening pulse.

There’s no way Eames hasn’t noticed it too.

“Don’t worry,” Eames says, sliding off Yusuf’s lap and onto the floor. “I know we don’t have much time left.” Eames kneels between Yusuf’s legs and runs a hand over Yusuf’s clothed erection, making him gasp. “Tell me Yusuf, do your compounds also have an effect on libido?” Eames asks as he undoes Yusuf’s belt. “Because that would explain a lot about your current predicament.”

“Fuck you,” Yusuf says again, but the effect is ruined by the way he’s arching into Eames’s hand, clearly desperate for his touch. Eames finally frees Yusuf’s cock and gives a teasing lick to the underside. There’s a glint of something in his eyes—self-satisfaction, maybe. Yusuf chances another glance at his desk drawer, but it’s still as secure as ever. 

“I’m not going to rob you while I’m sucking you off,” Eames says, giving Yusuf’s cock a long, slow stroke. “Even I’m not _that_ good,” he adds, pressing a kiss to the sensitive underside.

Yusuf hisses. “I’m not stupid enough to trust a thief.”

“And yet, here we are,” Eames says, ducking to take the head of Yusuf’s dick into his mouth. Eames’s mouth is hot and slick, and Yusuf’s eyes almost fall shut in spite of himself. In a dream, the sensation is intensified, and Eames’s mouth feels impossibly good where it’s stretched around his dick.

“How am I supposed to believe you’re not trying to steal from me right now?” Yusuf grits out finally.

Eames looks up at Yusuf from between his legs, then slowly draws off with an obscene sound.

“Because I’ve already done it.”

Yusuf opens his mouth to reply, but at that precise moment Eames takes him all the way to the back of his throat. Yusuf swears in Hindi and then again in Swahili, his hips stuttering as he forces himself deeper into Eames’s mouth.

“—fucking _bastard_ ,” Yusuf manages to get out in English.

Eames locks eyes with him, his lips stretched wide with Yusuf’s cock, and _winks_.

Frustration and arousal twist uncomfortably in Yusuf’s gut. He gets a hand in Eames’s perfectly styled hair, and forcibly drags him off his cock.

“How did you do it?” Yusuf asks.

Eames licks his lips, slowly. The gesture is obscene, would be infuriating if it didn’t make Yusuf’s dick throb. “I had an accomplice,” he says simply. Asshole doesn’t even sound out of breath.

“Only the two of us went under,” Yusuf says faintly. With his free hand, he reaches for his desk drawer and tries to open it.

The lock holds fast.

“I know,” Eames says, pressing a kiss to Yusuf’s shaft, then tracing the underside with his tongue. “I asked for an hour in dream time to test your compound, so you put five minutes on the clock. Plenty of time for someone to break into your office and steal your formulas.”

Eames swallows him down again without preamble, and Yusuf makes an undignified sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. It takes all of his willpower to seize Eames’s hair and draw him off his cock again.

“How did you find an accomplice?”

Eames’s smile is wicked. “People can do anything with the right motivation,” he repeats, giving Yusuf’s cock a firm squeeze. 

Yusuf bites back a groan. His thoughts are clouded with arousal, his mind hazy with it. Finally, he manages, “Then why even attempt extraction when you could have stolen from me in reality?”

“Because I wanted to see if I could. Turns out, I underestimated you,” he says, his breath ghosting over Yusuf’s cock. “But it’s like they say: nothing ventured—”

Eames breaks off, sucking the head of Yusuf’s cock into his mouth, only to withdraw just as suddenly. “Now we’ve not got much time left,” he says. “Are you going to continue yammering on about this, or are you going to let me finish blowing you?”

Eames moves to duck his head once more, but Yusuf grabs his hair, holding him inches away from his dick. He still has one last question.

“Why?”

Eames frowns. “Why what?”

“Why do”—Yusuf gesticulates wildly—“this?”

Eames’s eyes darken. For the first time, Yusuf’s gaze is drawn to Eames’s crotch where he’s palming himself through his slacks. Yusuf swallows, his mouth suddenly gone dry.

Eames is as hard as he is.

“Because I wanted to,” Eames says finally, and swallows Yusuf all the way down.

This time, Yusuf doesn’t try and stifle the sigh that falls from his lips, and he doesn’t stop himself from thrusting into Eames’s mouth. Yusuf doesn’t care that this man is a thief, doesn’t care that their time is nearly up. The only thing that matters is the wet glide of Eames’s mouth, the way his throat constricts around Yusuf’s dick every time he thrusts in deep.

Yusuf thinks he can hear Eames moan around his cock, but it’s all lost to the rush of blood in his ears. His heart is racing now, pounding so hard he feels as though the room will shake with it. And as his vision begins to fade, the last thing he sees is Eames, impossibly smug, smirking around his cock as he—

Yusuf wakes with a gasp.

Slowly, reality reveals itself to him. The room is hot and humid, and the back of his neck is sticky with sweat. It’s far too bright in here, and he has to squint to adjust to the glare. His cock is hard and aching where it presses against the seam of his pants, untouched. And Eames—

Eames is already on his feet, rebuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, a sly grin on his face.

“You—” Yusuf starts.

“Me,” Eames agrees serenely. “You know, it’s a shame we didn’t get to finish what we started,” he says, shrugging on his jacket, “but in a city like this, our paths are bound to cross again.”

“Wait.” Yusuf attempts to rise from his chair, but his body is sluggish, still affected by the sedative. Eames must go under regularly to have developed such a tolerance to it.

“I can assure you my accomplice is long gone, along with your formulas. So there’s no need to frisk me—unless you’d like to, of course,” he adds with a wink. “Don’t bother tracking me, either. They already have instructions to pass them directly onto my buyer, so I’m not about to lead you to them. Again, unless you’d like to,” he adds, looking Yusuf up and down, his gaze nothing short of a leer.

“I’ve told you before: without the correct pharmacological technique, those formulas are useless and—”

“So you say,” Eames says. There’s that glint in his eye again, something smug and self-satisfied. Yusuf wants to wipe it off his face. “But my buyer didn’t stipulate that the formulas be replicable; only that I need acquire them.”

Eames retrieves his briefcase, but takes a moment to pass Yusuf on his way out. “Be seeing you, _Yusuf_ ,” he says, leaning in close. Somehow, it sounds like both a come-on and a threat.

Eames leaves the workroom without a backwards glance, and Yusuf can only sit motionless as he listens to the sound of his fading footsteps, willing the feeling to return to his fingers. Finally, his muscles begin to obey him, enough so he can reach for the locked draw of his desk.

It slides open easily, the lock picked and now useless. Yusuf doesn’t need to look inside to know it’s empty. But he also knows, with equal certainty, that this isn’t over. When Eames realises the formulas alone are insufficient, that they truly are impossible to replicate, that only Yusuf can synthesise them correctly—

He’ll be back. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


End file.
